


Opportunities in Freelance

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canada, Fluff, Job offers, M/M, Strategic Maple Syrup Reserve, maple syrup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how hard Bucky tried, he simply could not predict what would happen in this crazy new life.</p><p>Take this morning, for instance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opportunities in Freelance

**Author's Note:**

> I was traveling and so missed the chance to celebrate Bucky's birthday with fic on the actual day, so Happy Belated Birthday, Bucky Barnes.
> 
> Reena Jenkins has created [a lovely podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4524684) of this story!

These days, Bucky preferred predictable where he could get it, because most of his new life was anything but. 

You never really knew if, say, you’d be walking down a hall minding your own business when suddenly a dart filled with animal tranquilizer would sail past your face, quickly followed by Banner in the process of hulking out with his shirt and pants falling off in shreds, running away from Stark as he attempted to aim a tranq gun at his pal. Or maybe you’d be watching TV and Barton would crash through the ceiling because he’d forgotten he hadn’t screwed the air-vent intake grill in properly the last time he’d come by. You could be peacefully eating your dinner when Steve would suddenly clutch his throat, writhe around, and fall on the floor like a landed fish because the Widow was testing new knockout formulas or poisons or something like that and supersoldiers made great lab rats. The thing was, no matter how hard Bucky tried, he simply could not predict what would happen in this crazy new life.

Take this morning, for instance.

Bucky was enjoying his coffee and reading a crappy book in his favorite café, far away from Stark’s tower. He’d developed a routine of coming here for a late breakfast after the meetings Sam dragged him to, it gave him a chance to regroup and it was quiet, _predictable._ They knew him here, they knew his orders, even knew who he was, and no one cared. Mostly they left him alone, not out of fear but out of respect and friendliness.

That’s why it upset his equilibrium when two people pulled up chairs and sat down across from him as if they’d been invited. Bucky didn’t recognize them, but he could tell by their carriage and hesitant movements they weren’t Hydra. He cataloged them immediately: the one on the left was female, white, about five-eight, mid-thirties at most. The one on the right was male, early forties, at least six feet, with darker skin and nearly black hair.

Bucky didn’t say anything. That was the first rule of encounters like this--silence forced them on the offensive, made them nervous. Instead he scowled at them, and he could see the one on the right flinch. That they were afraid of him was at least predictable, and it comforted him. 

“Mr. Barnes. We didn’t mean to startle you, and we’re sorry to have not been properly introduced but you’ll understand why in a minute. We hope this isn’t an inconvenient time? We know who you are and we’ve been waiting for the right chance to approach you, and saw that you were alone.”

Bucky shrugged. “After the trial, everyone knows who I am.” 

One of the things Steve had done back when he was slowly trying to draw Bucky out of the shell of the Winter Soldier was to show him kids’ stuff, like _Sesame Street_ (Bucky really identified with Oscar the Grouch) and animated movies (they wept like babies every time they watched _Lilo & Stitch_, and Bucky identified even more strongly with Stitch than he had with Oscar) and books (Dr. Seuss was the hands-down favorite, and he’d re-read all of them so often they were getting dog-eared). So his immediate inclination was to think of them as Thing 1 (the gal) and Thing 2 (the fella) and Bucky laughed, which made Thing 2 flinch even harder.

“Oh, sure, of course,” Thing 1 said. “But we...we’re not, like, _fans_ or the media or something.”

“You’re wearing dark suits and carrying. What did you think, that that was subtle?” She shifted uncomfortably and pulled her jacket tighter, but all that did was make the bulge of her belt holster more noticeable. 

“We represent certain interests that might be worth your consideration. We had to wait to ensure you weren’t--affiliated with anyone. Since you’re no longer--um, employed, per se. These interests could potentially make use of your unique skills.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. They wanted to _hire_ the Winter Soldier? This was either hilarious or tragic, he hadn’t decided yet. “My skills.”

“Well,” Thing 2 began, “we require someone who’s highly trained and capable, not to mention unattached to any particular interests. And we’ve been watching you since the trial, you have no obvious source of income but you’ve maintained your--training, as it were.”

Okay, hilarious it was, then. “Where you from?” There was the faintest trace of an accent he couldn’t figure out.

They shared a quick glance at each other, and Thing 1 pushed her coffee cup around on the table. “Canada,” she said, then quickly added, “not CSIS or RCMP.” That explained the politeness. The fact that she’d said it so quickly told him all he needed to know about this being an off-the-books operation that someone was really twitchy about, not to mention that they had clearly at one time been government agents. It was fucking _adorable_. 

Bucky leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. The silence stretched out until Thing 2 gave in and said, “Yes, so, to reiterate, we are hoping to set the stage for a possible transaction between our employers and yourself.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” Bucky said. The way Thing 2’s eyebrow twitched every time Bucky spoke was giving him life. 

“Have you ever heard of the International Strategic Reserve?” Thing 1 asked.

It sounded like a hundred other generic agencies or systems he’d heard of over the decades, and most of them never meant a goddamn thing to him then or now. Bucky shook his head. 

“It’s worth millions and millions of dollars. Canadian or US. Though obviously with the exchange rate now, a lot more in your currency.” She sounded so personally affronted by that. “From the production and sale of maple syrup.”

Bucky laughed out loud. “Maple syrup. Like what you put on your pancakes?” 

Thing 2 heaved an aggrieved sigh. “Among other things.” Clearly, explaining this was his least favorite thing. He leaned across the table, keeping his voice low. “In 2012, there was a theft of about six million pounds of syrup from a strategic reserve maintained by the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers, worth at least eighteen million US dollars. The crime was eventually solved, but since then there have been--let’s just say an ongoing theft issue. There is quite a black market in maple syrup.”

“Which theft has been kept quiet,” Thing 1 added, “to avoid publicity. It would make us look very bad if people knew about the problem. Not to mention pricing problems.”

“So this covert approach to me is from a maple syrup cartel?” He finished the last of his coffee and eyeballed them. You had to kind of admire the moxie of anyone who’d approach the Winter Soldier over something like tree sap. Still, Bucky fucking loved the maple-bacon-flavored popcorn Sam had introduced him to, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t sympathize.

They both scanned the room, blanching at how loudly he’d said that. Thing 2 said, “With climate change, the production in the US and other markets could become more and more erratic. That means Canadian production might be even more important in the future, and keeping prices stable is vital. There are opposing interests who are trying to destroy the livelihoods of a lot of people in Canadian syrup production and destabilize the market. Someone’s sugarbush can be--”

“Excuse me--the what now?” Bucky asked, blinking. 

“Sugarbush. It’s what the stand of maple trees you tap for syrup is called.” He glared at Bucky, as if daring him to make a joke about it. Obviously he wouldn’t be the first person who had. “As I was saying. These thefts can destroy people, destroy the economy. There’s an individual we’ve identified that we believe is at the heart of these thefts. An American from the northeast.”

Bucky sighed. There was unpredictable and then there was _this_. “And you want me to take him out.”

They glanced nervously at each other. “We can neither confirm nor deny that at this time. The people we represent will strike at anyone they believe threatens them. All our interests are adjacent, let’s just say.”

“Yeah, no, I’m really gonna need you to be more specific.” He shouldn’t have been so surprised. Honestly, it wasn’t that different from some of the assassinations he’d done to politically destabilize a region, especially back in the ’60s when they’d hauled him out repeatedly and sent him to little backwater countries that larger countries wanted to fuck with. But that didn’t make the whole thing any less farcical. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.

“Not here.” Thing 2 had a backbone all of a sudden. “Let me put it to you this way. There’s a reason Canada’s flag is a maple leaf. It’s big business. Very, very big, and you of all people know that business is more powerful than political ideology. This stuff is liquid gold. It’s worth more than crude oil. Especially now with Canada’s oil prices so low.”

Couldn’t argue with that. “So, let me get this straight--you’ve got a Dr. Evil type who’s stealing the federation’s maple syrup and selling it on the black market. And some people out there, who may or may not be with the federation, want to ensure he doesn’t keep doing it by any means necessary.” It sounded like some kind of alternate universe version of Hydra’s government infiltration efforts. No wonder they wanted Bucky.

Thing 1 nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the gist of it. And if you’re interested in pursuing this discussion, we could--”

“Hey, Buck, sorry I’m late,” Steve said, pulling up a chair next to him. _Perfect_ timing. Thing 1’s mouth dropped open in shock, Thing 2 visibly shrank into his seat. “Who’re these guys?” Steve reached across the table to shake hands.

“We haven’t made it to the names part yet. They’re here to offer me a freelance job.”

“Oh,” Steve said, withdrawing his hand, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead in puzzlement. Bucky smiled at him and jerked his head, and Steve said, “Ooohhh.” Steve kissed him on the cheek. “Got held up at the VA. But I see you’ve made some friends without me.” He beamed across the table at them.

“We’re not--” Thing 1 started, but then thought better of it. Clearly they hadn’t anticipated Captain freaking America would join them, and now they didn’t know what to do when faced with the Sentinel of Liberty. “We’re just getting acquainted.”

“No, no, just pretend I’m not here,” Steve said. 

They shifted, hemmed and hawed. This was utterly fucking delightful. Bucky said to Steve, “They were kind enough to worry that I didn’t have any meaningful work after the trial. Did you know there’s a strategic maple syrup reserve?”

Steve made an “I did not know that” face. Christ, Bucky loved him, he was always so game for anything you could throw at him. “You mean what you put on pancakes?” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Thing 2’s shoulders droop.

“Don’t that beat all? And apparently there was a really big heist of the stuff a few years ago in Canada, right about the time you woke up. And now there’s some Dr. Evil of maple syrup stealing more and more of it. The Canadians need a freelancer who specializes in wetwork to eliminate the head honcho.” 

Thing 1 gave Bucky a frosty stare, but she kept her mouth closed. 

“Well, you got time on your schedule. How much does it pay?” Steve asked them, all saucer-eyed innocence.

Thing 2 narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t something we’d--”

“No, right, of course, not right now. But I assume we’re talking big bucks. American, that is. Since the exchange rate is so bad right now on your side.”

“I’d need at least half up front. For supplies,” Bucky said. 

“What are you thinking?” Steve asked. “Long-range weapons, or close-quarters work?”

“Well, you know, long range is always easiest, in my experience, especially with someone like this because he’ll have a security detail, kidnapping prevention, all that stuff. With close quarters you gotta worry about necessities--we don’t want to drive around with a body in the trunk, so complete, immediate disposal would be important. Way more inconvenient, that is.”

“Not lime or sulfuric acid or something?” Steve asked, tilting his head. “I always heard that’s what you were supposed to do.”

“Nah, that’s the kind of stuff you read in books like this.” Bucky held up the crappy thriller he’d been reading. “More important to completely pulverize the body and drain it of all fluids or get it into an incinerator--oh, but this is getting off topic. It’s not like we’re in an episode of _The Wire_.” He grinned. This time they both flinched.

“Okay, so yeah, we’d need half up front.” Steve nodded his head firmly as he said it, as if he was Bucky’s agent and would henceforth handle all contractual negotiations.

“I guess we’re done here,” Thing 2 said, weary and resigned. He pushed back in his chair.

“I told you this was a bad idea. I told _them_.” Thing 1 was pretty goddamn pissed off. He almost felt sorry for her, almost. Someone somewhere along the line had convinced them this was a good idea. He and Steve could follow it up along the chain and see who was at the top and planning assassinations, but Bucky was pretty certain that wouldn’t be nearly as fun as this whole conversation had been.

“Listen, there’s still a lot of rogue Hydra minions out there, looking for work. You don’t need the world’s deadliest assassin for a job like this, I’m sure one of them could fill it out just fine. Probably just cost you a plane ticket and change.”

Thing 2 made a face, but Bucky was pretty sure he could see a spark in his eye. Thing 1’s eyes traveled up and down Steve’s body as she walked past their table. Bucky understood that impulse all too well.

“That was fun,” Bucky said when they were gone. “I fuckin’ love you, have I told you that lately?”

“Only every day,” Steve said, and kissed him a lot more intensely this time. If there was one thing Bucky liked about living in the future, it was the fact that he could kiss Steve in the middle of a café or a street or a theatre and no one really gave a crap. “Man, it takes some cojones to approach a guy like you for a job like that. They couldn’t have known how much you hate surprises, but still.”

“I know, right? They were very polite.”

“Proud of you for not punching their skulls in.”

Bucky sighed happily. He never got tired of basking in Steve’s pride. “Hey. Did you know a bunch of maple trees is called a sugarbush?”

“Well, that’s just lewd,” Steve said, and giggled like a little boy. 

“That’s what I thought. Good to know it’s not just me being an ass.” He smiled. “You know what I’m in the mood for now, though?”

Steve’s face lit up. They both said at the same time, “Pancakes!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and reblogs [on Tumblr](http://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/113486717575/opportunities-in-freelance-2548-words-by-gwyneth) are adored!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Opportunities in Freelance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524684) by [gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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